Of Maple Syrup and Wine
by Sweetest Possible Revenge
Summary: It's a oneshot with a prologue. ? Anyway. PrussiaxCanada, and that should really tell you all about it. I suck at summaries, I promise the story is better. Rated T for Prussia's language, although that might change.
1. Prologue

**Really, do oneshots even have prologues? Whatever. **

**This is dedicated to Felicia Borja, for her birthday. :D**

**Of Maple Syrup and Wine**

**Prologue**

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the awesome [former] kingdom of Preußen, awoke with an uncomfortable hangover to the sound of a piano. As usual.

He hoisted himself out of bed and went through the motions of showering, shaving, and rifling through the medicine cabinet for painkillers. Last night had been three crates of beer with West, and he was surprised his head didn't feel worse.

Gilbert managed to get clothes on himself and trudged downstairs to get breakfast. He frowned as he identified the piece. Chopin's _Raindrops. _He'd always found that piece filled with gloom and doom for some reason, so he wondered why Roderich would be playing it now.

Roderich. Roderich Edelstein. His… partner, for lack of a better word. They got fed up with each other a lot and rarely agreed on anything, but somehow their relationship worked.

Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. No.

Gilbert sighed as he went into the kitchen, bypassing the closed door of the music room. He put some bread in the toaster and grabbed it as soon as it popped up, ignoring the smarting of his fingers. The toast clattered onto a plate as he searched the cupboards for anything he could smear on it.

Olive oil, no. Salt, no. Hot chocolate mix, no.

Ah, here we are. Strawberry jam.

He pulled the jar out of the cupboard, cracked the seal on it and lifted the first of the preserves out with the tip of the bread knife.

Covering two slices of toast with jam, he sauntered into Austria's music room, where the male was tapping out the last notes of _Raindrops. _His fingers hovered over the keys, just barely pressing them. With a sigh, Roderich looked up as Gilbert set down the plate of toast on his piano.

"Have you eaten yet?" the Prussian asked.

"Not yet. Thank you." Roderich picked up the piece of bread and delicately, but hungrily, bit into it. Gilbert watched him for a while, then said "Why _Raindrops_?"

Roderich blinked, then looked down, chewing. He swallowed deliberately and said "Should there be a reason?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Depends. Is there one?"

"Maybe."

Gilbert let it go. Really, his head was aching too much for him to play at this. Maybe those painkillers were expired…

He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, as if he could force back the pain to wherever it had come from. Roderich avoided his eyes, which were screwed up tight, anyway.

"Gilbert… I have to tell you something."

"What?"

There was a beat of silence. Then Austria dropped the bomb. "I want to end this relationship."

Gilbert processed this for a while. Then he exploded. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

Roderich winced. "It is becoming more difficult to—"

"Bullshit!"

"Your language, _please,_" Roderich cut in sharply.

Gilbert pushed a hand through his hair. He now had one hell of a headache and a twisting, mangled something in his chest and—"Who is it."

Roderich blinked. "Pardon?"

"Who. Is. It." Gilbert glared at him. "God knows you won't end this without a reason. Who. Is. It."

Roderich's breath left him on a sigh. "Elizaveta. Hungary."

Gilbert had brief visions of a dark-haired, domineering woman who was, somehow, more manly than most of the nations put together. He was shocked. Roderich… and Elizaveta? He rubbed at his forehead, unable to take it in.

"I'm sorry," Austria said softly.

"Whatever." Gilbert gestured tiredly. "I'll go and pack. I'll move in with West this afternoon."

Now he knew why Roderich was playing _Raindrops. _


	2. The Actual Story

**The oneshot proper. Still dedicated to Fel Borja, for her birthday. **

**(Thank you, thank you, thank you to all those who alerted this story, or reviewed it, or added it to his/her favorites(or all of the above). It was overwhelming. THANK YOU! *glomp*)**

**Of Maple Syrup and Wine**

Gilbert sat, sullen and silent, as Alfred prattled on and on. He never really listened to America at the world meeting and he didn't know why he was still going to them either. Officially he was East Germany now, but he stubbornly paraded around proclaiming himself as the awesome Prussia still.

Whatever.

He played with his and West's fingers, comparing their lengths, checking on Ludwig's nails, and persisting even when the slightly irritated nation jerked his hand away. He was _that _bored, and besides, he would do anything not to have to look a few chairs down the table to Roderich and Elizaveta.

Last time he'd looked, Roderich had refused to meet his eyes, embarrassment staining his cheeks pink. But Eliza made eye contact and had the grace to look only slightly smug.

Gilbert sighed, and recaptured Ludwig's wrist. He gave his brother a none too gentle nudge and hissed at the elbowing he received back. Ludwig managed to free his hand again. Prussia became too bored to reach for it so he looked down the opposite end of the table, away from Austria and Hungary, looking for potential vital regions to invade.

Hello.

There was a small nation sitting there almost at the very end. He was blond and blue-eyed and really very cute as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. He looked like America, but was definitely NOT him. This nation was almost unnoticeable and looked like he was used to it. No one spoke to him at all.

"West," he hissed, "who is that?"

Ludwig followed his gaze. "That's Belarus."

"No, no, over there!"

"Turkey."

Gilbert grabbed his brother's chin and forced him to look in the small nation's direction. "I'm talking about the blonde."

"Oh." Ludwig's eyebrows pulled together. "It's… hm. I think he's… Canada?"

Gilbert let go of his chin. "Canada?" That made sense.

"_Ja. _Although I'm not sure…" Ludwig frowned again.

Gilbert steepled his fingers and regarded Canada thoughtfully. He was not aware of Prussia's scrutiny at all. Come to think of it… he was the only one even looking at Canada. All of them were fixated on America and his crazy ideas. He smiled, a slow devilish grin that stretched from ear to ear.

He promised himself that he'd come over and introduce himself as soon as this damn summit was over.

"Hey. You're Canada, _ja_?"

Matthew Williams looked up in astonishment at the tall albino grinning down at him. Flustered, he pushed his glasses up on his nose. The albino tilted his head and repeated, "You're Canada?"

"U-uh. Y-yes, I am. But how did you know?"

"Huh?"

"P-people usually mistake me for Alfred and I—"

"Oh." The tall nation nodded, not waiting for Matthew to finish. "Okay. I'm Gilbert, by the way."

Matthew blinked. "Gilbert?"

"_Ja._" Gilbert grinned. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, the awesome kingdom of Preußen."

"N-nice to meet you." Matthew extended his hand. "I'm Matthew Williams. Canada."

"I knew that already." But Gilbert took his hand nonetheless.

* * *

**FIVE MONTHS LATER**

Matthew rounded a corner in his home and crashed into Gilbert as the other male turned the corner as well.

"Oh shit," Gilbert said, horrified as Matthew staggered back rubbing his nose, especially where his glasses had suddenly cut into his skin. "_Verdammt, _Matthew, are you okay? Christ, I'm sorry!"

Matthew flapped a hand in front of his chest. "I'm okay."

Gilbert hovered anxiously over him, his Gilbird cheeping just as concernedly.

"You should've knocked or something," Matthew mumbled. These days, Gilbert had taken to just letting himself in without giving a single indication that he was there. Matt was starting to get used to entering a room only to find Gilbert already lounging there.

"Starting to" being the operative phrase.

Once Gilbert had ascertained that Matt was fine, he relaxed. Throwing an arm around Canada's shoulders, the Prussian boisterously cried, "So, pancakes?"

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER **

Gilbert sat next to Canada at all world conferences now. Even as Matthew insisted on paying attention to his twin, Gilbert irreverently drew his attention somewhere else. It was a good way to spend the meetings, at least in Prussia's point of view.

He cast his mind back to when Matt had tried to teach him to play hockey. He'd gotten the hang of it, more or less, but he preferred to watch Matt play. The Canadian was utterly transformed on the ice, having steel and spine and ruthlessness no one would expect of him.

He also, Prussia reflected, took to ordering him, Gilbert, around more often, and for reasons totally unknown to man, Gilbert allowed him to.

What the hey, he was still awesome.

He looked idly around and met Austria's dark brown eyes purely by accident and jerked his head around abruptly.

Scheiße. It had been five months and still he wasn't completely over it. Granted, it was awkward when you saw each other every few months or so… but still.

He pressed his lips together and looked resolutely at Alfred.

Matthew caught the exchange. He saw Gilbert's red eyes flare, then dull as he looked in the opposite direction. Glancing at Austria, he saw the reassuring smile Hungary gave him.

_It's unfair, _he thought. _Totally unfair. _

_

* * *

  
_

"Matt, move over."

"What?" Matt rolled groggily over in bed, shielding his eyes from the dim light of the lam. He glimpsed Gilbert half-standing in the shadows before—

"_Merde!" _

Gilbert had gotten into bed, pushing Matt out of the way. He, Matthew, ended up at the very edge of his bed and nearly rolled off when Gilbert's hand shot out and caught him around the waist, hauling him back to the center. He felt his face heat up and prayed that Gilbert couldn't see it.

"Gilbert, what the hell?"

"Haven't slept in your bed yet," was the muffled reply.

"So what?"

But Gilbert snuggled deeper into the pillows and closed his eyes.

"What are you still doing here, anyway?" Matthew tried to sit up. "Why aren't you at home?"

Gilbert mumbled something that sounded like "Because Roderich's there."

"Roderich?"

"Austria."

"Oh."

Nearly all the nations—at least, those who would be impacted by it and then some—had heard of the split. It was relatively minor, as most splits went. Austria was with Hungary and Prussia had been absorbed by Germany… but still.

No one said anything for a moment. Then Gilbert reached out and turned off the lamp. "Night, Matthew."

"Good night, Gilbert," Matthew whispered into the darkness.

The Prussian woke Matthew up again when he suddenly snuggled into Canada, tucking his head under Matt's chin and wrapping his arms around Matt's chest. Matt was forced to straighten out as Gilbert curled into him. Astonished, scarlet flooding his cheeks for the second time that night, he stared down at what he could see of Gilbert's pale hair in the moonlight. Judging by his even breathing, Prussia was deeply asleep.

_Mon dieu, _the man was a _cuddler. _

Canada grinned. Well, wasn't that a pleasant surprise.

* * *

**A COUPLE OF MONTHS AFTER THAT INCIDENT**

Gilbert glared at France, fiercely denying what Francis was saying. "I am NOT in love."

"_Mon ami, _you ARE." Francis grinned defiantly. "We rarely see you these days! You're always with Matthew!"

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"Oh, even when you choose Matthew's pancakes over Antonio's port?"

"I don't remember doing that! Port?" Gilbert gestured grandly. "Would I, the awesome Prussia, ever deny Spain's _port wine?_"

"_Mon dieu, _Gilbert, you did!" Francis cried. "I saw you! _Pris dans l'acte!_"

Gilbert swallowed. Now that Francis mentioned it… what the hell. To cover his confusion, he muttered, "Frog."

"Wurst," the Frenchman returned cheerfully.

* * *

"Sorry."

Matthew grinned unrepentantly at Gilbert, despite having apologized, as Kumajirou sleepily rolled over. He nudged the back of Gilbert's knee, then ambled away.

Said Prussian lay sprawled on the floor, having tripped over the polar bear in his haste to enter Canada's house. Matt bent down, grabbed Prussia's wrist and hauled him up.

Gilbert turned scarlet. "_Ficken,_" he muttered, as Matthew laughed again.

_Oh shit, _Gilbert thought, as he watched Matthew eat. _I am in love. I have so fallen in love. _

He felt like slamming his head against the wall a few (dozen) times. France's voice reverberated in his head: _"Love is awesome, _mon ami_, and don't you dare say otherwise!"_

Gilbert groaned.

"Is there a problem?" Matthew set down a spoonful of paella that Antonio had given Gilbert that morning. As Gilbert shook his head it occurred to him how much they were like a married couple already. For God's sake, the only way they hadn't acted like they were married was that there had been no invading of vital regions… yet.

Although God knew Gilbert wanted to. Wildly. Badly.

He suppressed another groan. The problem was that he didn't want Matt to be just another one night stand.

Goddammit, that did probably mean he was in love.

Goddammit _shit.

* * *

_

"What's so bad about that?" Antonio asked crossly the next day.

"I don't _know,_" Gilbert said, frustrated.

Antonio laughed lazily. "_Amigo, _love is… well, love."

Gilbert glared at his friend. "Fuck you too."

The Spaniard sighed theatrically and reached over to ruffle Gilbert's hair. "Whatever. You are in love."

"You are making me sound like a lovesick puppy," Prussia grumbled.

Antonio closed his eyes. "_¿El idiota. Siempre se preocupó por su imagen. Por qué no puede admitir usted justo que usted está enamorado del canadiense?_"

"What was that supposed to mean?" Gilbert demanded.

Spain opened one eye. "It means," he said, slowly, like he was talking to a child, "you are being completely un-awesome in not admitting this."

"What?"

Antonio sighed. The fact that Prussia was more worried about being un-awesome than about his feelings for Canada (which certainly should be addressed immediately, in the Spaniard's way of thinking) was so… Prussia. "You are not being awesome, _amigo. _Not. At. All."

Gilbert was utterly speechless at the thought of not being awesome. "You are fucking kidding me, Antonio."

"I am not." Antonio leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He gestured, like he was trying to shoo a fly away. "Now, go away. I need my _siesta._"

* * *

Francis listened rather impatiently to a stuttering Prussia, indignant with the fact that Antonio had called him 'un-awesome' to his face. Finally fed up with it, he forced Gilbert to be still by putting his hands on the other male's shoulders and looking him straight in the eye.

"Everything Antonio said is true," he stated clearly, factually, mercilessly.

Gilbert's jaw dropped.

"You are being more thick-headed than usual," Francis continued, ignoring Gilbert's shouts of _What do you mean, 'more than usual?!' _"Your refusal to admit to love is not awesome. Really."

"Wait what—"

Prussia never got to finish the sentence. Because just then Austria walked by, with a sheaf of music sheets under his arm. He saw France and waved, but froze as he spotted Prussia next to him. Prussia hesitated, then lifted a hand tentatively and sketched out a wave. Austria waved back, then resumed walking, only more slowly this time. As Prussia watched him go, he was surprised to feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. He felt calm and, apart from both of his best friends completely turning on him, perfectly fine.

Francis nudged him. "See?" he said gleefully.

"See what?" Gilbert said grumpily.

"You're over him, and totally in love with Matthew!"

Prussia processed this for a few minutes, then turned and banged his head against the wall. "How did this _happen,_" he groaned.

Francis watched his friend unrepentantly. "It is love, Gilbert, so you cannot possibly know."

Gilbert glared at Francis one more time, then sighed. "Okay, okay. I-I…. I lo…." He put his head in his hands. "God. I can't do this, Francis, it's so un-awesome!"

France pushed him. "Just say it! You're being spineless here!"

Gilbert straightened. "I'm not spineless! I'm way too awesome to be spineless!"

"So say it already!"

The Prussian swallowed. "I—shit, I love Canada. I love Matthew Williams. I—" and here he faltered, looking at Francis, who then gestured with his hands to _get on with it. _So Prussia squared his shoulders and finally continued. "I love that sappy, hockey-playing blue-eyed bastard!" he declared, as if slandering Canada would make up for his moments of vulnerability.

Francis pursed his lips. For Prussia, it was good enough. He patted Gilbert on the back. "You're making progress, _mon ami. _You're making progress."

* * *

Meanwhile, Canada was sitting amused and exasperated as Alfred and Arthur stormed around him.

"Prussia? _Prussia? _You're fucking in love with _Prussia?" _Alfred shrieked.

Matt shrugged.

Arthur swooped down. "Goddamnit, Matthew, why _him_?"

"Any complaints?" Matt countered.

Alfred and Arthur simultaneously paused, then bulldozed on.

"He's arrogant!"

"He's not even a country anymore!"

"You two don't even work well together!"

Matt sighed. "He's been sleeping at my house for the past two months."

The silence of the grave greeted his words.

"Well then." Arthur shoved a hand roughly through his hair, thick brows drawing together. "That settles it."

Alfred looked coldly at him. "How, exactly?"

"I suppose if you can tolerate each other for so long, you can handle a relationship." Arthur shrugged. "Shot of brandy, anyone? To celebrate?"

* * *

Matt entered the living room and found Gilbert on the couch, with Kumajirou fast asleep a few feet away from him. Red eyes shifted and locked onto him.

"Hey."

"Hello," Matt replied as he advanced cautiously into the living room.

"Matt, come here. I have something to tell you."

Matt's heart leapt suddenly, then began beating twice as fast as before. "What is it?" he asked cautiously as he approached the Prussian.

Gilbert's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him into his lap. Matt gave a startled squeak before Gilbert's _other _hand slid onto the back of his neck and pushed his head nearer to Gilbert's. Blood was pounding in his ears and he could barely keep up with his own heart—and that was _before _Gilbert kissed him.

_I've died. _It was the only coherent thought Matt could form. _I've died and this is heaven, and I'm happy. _

"What were you going to tell me?" he gasped as soon as Prussia let him go.

"Only that you better say 'I love you too' or else I'll kick your ass and leave." Gilbert grinned, as if he knew exactly what Matthew was going to say.

Matt laughed almost giddily. "I love you too."

Gilbert manhandled his hair. "And I love you, you sappy bastard." He grinned the same devilish grin he'd worn when he saw Matthew for the first time, so many months ago, although Matt didn't know that.

"Your vital regions are mine!" he declared triumphantly. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he pulled Matt closer and whispered in his ear, "Now let's go invade them."


	3. Epilogue

**Nothing, I declare, **_**nothing, **_**so long as it has a prologue, is complete without an epilogue. **

**Of Maple Syrup and Wine**

**Epilogue**

Germany stood awkwardly in Canada's living room, surrounded by suitcases and not a few boxes.

"The two of you will be okay?" he asked Matthew.

"Of course they will," France said dismissively from the couch. "I see no reason why they shouldn't be."

Matt in turn smiled reassuringly at Ludwig. "We'll be fine."

"My brother can be quite a handful."

"Oh, I know." Matt patted Ludwig's shoulder. "Relax."

"Yeah, _bruder,_" Gilbert told him cheerfully, sauntering into the room. "We're perfectly happy." He slung an arm around Matthew and reeled the smaller nation in for a kiss.

"Get a room, you two," Antonio yawned from the corner.

Matt pushed Gilbert away. "Later. After you pick up after yourself."

"Pick…up…?"

Matt pointed at the luggage. "Your clothes are scattered all over my living room. Pick them up before I ram you with a hockey stick," he said, with a haughtiness that spoke strongly of England.

"I'm too awesome to do this!" Gilbert protested.

"Are you going to do it or am I locking you out of the house?"

Ludwig stared in astonishment as his brother, who never voluntarily did anything for himself, began gathering the suitcases and hoisting them out of the room, grumbling all the while.

"That went well," Francis commented, laughing.

"The living room's cleaner, at any rate." Matt shrugged.

Germany himself started to grin.

_Ja, _maybe Canada wasn't so bad for Prussia after all.


End file.
